


The Stranger

by Khaleeki



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Canon Compliant, Death's perspective, F/M, Halloween Motive, Kinda, One Shot, R plus L equals J, Starks Deaths, The Stranger feels sad for the Starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleeki/pseuds/Khaleeki
Summary: I do not want to be so gloomy already but I must tell you something: You are going to die. Now, I know I said I wasn’t going to be gloomy but sometimes I just can’t help it. My job is certainly not the best out there. I sincerely do try to be enthusiastic about all this, though most people just have hatred towards me. I don’t blame them, it’s understandable. I am everything but nice and certainly not fair. Life is that way. And when I take someone it is for a reason. Keep that in mind.





	

I do not want to be so gloomy already but I must tell you something: You are going to die. Now, I know I said I wasn’t going to be gloomy but sometimes I just can’t help it. My job is certainly not the best out there. I sincerely do try my best to be enthusiastic about all this, though most people just have hatred towards me. I don’t blame them, it’s understandable. I am everything but nice and certainly not fair. Life is that way. And when I take someone it is for a reason.  
_Keep that in mind._

It’s not easy this world, for anyone. No matter how much we would like to think otherwise. I sense that every time when I have their miserable and lonely souls is in my arms and I carry them gently away. The only sound I hear after that is that of my own breathing and my footsteps, sometimes it’s the sound of weeping or even laughing behind me.

Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself properly! I mean I could but it’s not all that necessary, you will get to know me, sooner or later.  
Depends what the gods have in store for you.

I nevertheless have many names and many faces, but I always do the same. And everyone knows me just as well. Some people fear me others embrace me, but they come with me either way.

Here they know me simply as The Stranger.

********

Sometimes people catch my eye. My job is certainly not the most fun, as I have mentioned before. Like for example that of a knight or a bandit or even a prince. I have a quite uncomplicated task; sometimes it can even get boring. And while I’m doing my work I notice things. Humans are these strange creatures that after all this time I still do not fully comprehend. I notice the color of their eyes, a silver necklace that they are clutching in one hand, the weeping wench next to their side, the colour of the sky that day. 

Now, this one family caught my eye. I have taken so many of them already; it’s almost as if I can feel the pain they go through. Almost - but not really. First it was the father and the son. And by the gods, I was busy those times. There was wars going on those are the busiest times you see, I barely have time to notice things, but I did. Those times were full of suffering, for many people and many families and I was there to witness it all.

It all started in that hall, that hall with the chair made out of glistering pointy swords, with giant hollow skulls of dragons decorating it. I had been in that hall before, multiple times. Horrendous, horrifying, horrible and as many heinous words you can find with h. That’s how it was. The souls I take from that place are always in pain, always. 

There was this one man, who one could not ignore. I have met many people but none as wicked as he. I had taken many members of his family but none as wicked as he. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. He laughed as he heard their screams begging for mercy, for forgiveness, for the Mother to help them. Well, I can’t do anything about that. I always stood there waiting patiently for them to die, so I can take them and it still surprises me how long some people cling to life even after layers of their skin fry and began to peel off as the green vivid flames dance across their faces. He burned lords he didn't like. He burned Hands who disobeyed him. He burned anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him and he wanted to burn them all too.

But he was not part of the family I told you I have distinctly remarked. I only work in the south (I like the sun to warm my dark soul) there are other people in charge of this stuff up north. So I had never seen them before, but amazingly most of them died in my area, and - as I have counted - I have taken eight of them down here already. Where are the old gods when you need them huh?

First it was the father. When I arrived at the scene I must say I was deeply surprised, for he was suspended from rafters of the throne room while a large fire bloomed beneath him. It was almost comical, I would have laughed but I didn’t like The Mad King. He was known for doing this sort of stuff, but I was still very surprised. Men can be very cruel, that I know. But as he burned, his son was brought into the throne room; a leather cord attached to a strangulation device that was tightly wrapped around his neck. 

The Mad King told him his father was a dead man but there was a chance to save him. A longsword was placed on the floor just out of the poor young man’s reach. He knew what would happen, but he did it anyway, the more he struggled to reach the glazing sword, the more the cord tightened and tightened leaving angry red marks around his throat. The desperation, the panic, and the distress were tangible in the air. I mean try to imagine this scene - it’s deeply disturbing. That room was silent as a crypt except for the screams and the sound of the crackling fire, and of course, the Mad King laughing, his loud and unholy laughter resonating off the stone walls of that room.

It was one of them most gruesome scenes I have witnessed (and I have witnessed many horrible scenes). And five hundred men just stood there and watched such an atrocity take place. Humans I have come to realize, only care about themselves or what is convenient to them. Brandon Stark strangled himself trying to free his father, who was roasted alive in his own armor, while the court stared as I took their souls away. They were not in peace, I could feel it as I had them on my shoulders, but at least they had each other.

********

There are slow and painful deaths or fast and still painful deaths. Unfortunately for the Starks so far, they had all gone through slow and painful deaths. Unfortunately for the only daughter of Rickard Stark she also had the same fate. Unfortunately -or fortunately- depends how you see it, I only saw The Wolf Maid twice.

The first time my empty black eyes fell upon her, she was mounted on a white stallion; her long dark hair was undulating in the wind as she stood over four corpses. Next to her stood a prince, silver- white was his hair and dark indigo were his eyes. He had killed them protecting her (or so he said) and she didn’t need protection (so she argued) and it was this whole lover argument I did not care to listen. I was truly engulfed by her beauty, the things I’ve heard about her seemed to be true. (See another thing I learned about men, is that all they do is lie, lying is one of the things they can do best -apart from killing each other, that is.)

I had been overloaded with work, people dying everywhere again. So I was a bit late, to take their souls with me and all. It was late afternoon, the sky was a painted in different hues of soft pastel colours, pink and purple mixing making it look like the mane of a goddess. She climbed off the horse in a swift movement and dragged the bodies to the side of the road, hiding them with branches. 

It was far south, the most arid and dry part of the land. Where everything seemed yellower, wilder and raspier somehow. After I placed them on my shoulders, I looked back at the Wolf Maid; the prince was caressing her cheek with his slender fingers and murmuring sweet things to her as she stared, lost, into his indigo eyes. Last thing I saw was a tender kiss between the two. Now that I think about it, it always brings a sour taste to my mouth. I cannot stop myself from remembering when I took his wife with me, she had a kind and frail soul and if I myself had a soul it would have torn it into pieces as I took her children also with me to the other, darker side of this world. They were basically smashed into pieces; they were just babies. There were terrible deaths in this war, ones that would be remembered for centuries and centuries to come. But I really wonder sometimes what the actual hell the Mother does. Because I end up taking so many innocent souls of children with me. Isn’t she supposed to save some of them? Or the Maiden or someone? I swear I’m the one who actually works the most from all the Seven.

Not very long after that though I recall, I took the prince himself with me, His handsome and lovable Grace. He was a very complex character I must admit, who caused a lot of trouble. He was determined and deliberate and single-minded. He was charming and enchanting and intelligent. Loved as well as hated. I remember very clearly when the blood red rubies adorning Rhaegar's armor were shattered and scattered in the river drifting away with his blood. I remember the Stag- soon to be - King standing over him with a wide smile of victory planted on his face. I remember when The Last Dragon drew his last breath full of agony, how his indigo eyes got drained of all life within him.

But anyways, moving on, the second and last time I saw the she-wolf she was in a castle far far away from her home. In the Tower of Joy, which is very ironic, because nothing joyous ever happened there. She was lying in a bed of blood. Her brother, the quiet wolf, was there with her. Pearls of sweat decorated her forehead, her face was pale and there were dark bags under her eyes but her rugged beauty was still present. Her voice had been faint as a whisper, when she said her last words to her brother as he held her babe in his arms. If I had feelings, I would have felt sad, truly sad. I could feel her torment, her hope, her fear, her regret. Her love for her child. As I carried her gently away in my arms, it felt like soft winter breeze.

A maiden of only six and ten years of age. They all say she died before her time, but I _always_ come in time. She was beautiful and willful, but even the most beautiful of roses dries out in the end. It is our own actions that cause our own destiny. Remember I always come for a reason.

She left with a promise hanging in the air for her brother. His eyes were made of kindness and melted silver and they were filled with tears as he held his sister’s lifeless hand .To most people he was barely visible. He was a simple but noble man, the second son of the warden of the north. He was a lord of one of the greatest and oldest houses in Westeros had a good family and a good reputation. Somehow, though, he managed to fall back, to be not noticeable. I’m sure you’ve met people like this, because he was a good man but just not really special. Maybe it was his manner or the quiet air around him or his honour. But a good man, that he was. He had already escaped me in this war and there were more to come, where he cheated me again but in the end we got to meet.

More than a century after his dear sister’s death is when I met him. It surprised me to see a Stark so far south. To see him, whom I had seen as a young man, return to the hell of a place that had taken so many of his own kin. I waved at him, but he didn’t wave back.

He had arrived with his two daughters. I would get to know the sweet cubs very well later on and yes it was not a good experience. His youngest though, intrigued me since I met her, she had clothes made for a boy and short chopped hair with a thin blade strapped to her side. She was small and scrawny but had the spirit of a wild wolf; you could have mistaken her for a boy. But not me, I had taken her ancestors before (I mean her aunt and father though) and I recognized a Stark when I saw one –kinda. I wondered what would be of her, I didn’t hold high hopes you know. But then one day after not having seen her for long something stramge happened: she gave me a gift. And I took it and I thanked her. It was almost as if we were friends, but I know deep down she still hated me. She still accusingly asked me why I took her family away. 

As if it was my fault! Humans only blame the Gods for the things that happen - never themselves, as if The Crone can just change the past or as if The Smith can suddenly give strength to the weak. No it does not work that way. I mean, what would I know anyway? No one prays to me. They just use me to curse the other bastards they despise. 

Enough banter, as I was saying: She still sent me multiple gifts after that, not all which I liked but then I knew that she was not like the rest.

The other girl, Sansa, was a honeyed little bird. She was a true lady and a true gem to behold. She seemed frail and innocent but she grew out of that shell. I saw her as she slowly put up her armor, as if The Warrior had blessed her with his mantle and The Maiden aided her from above. There was this one day the sky was grey -ash grey and it was pouring. I was wandering around the Vale and my gaze fell upon her figure. She had a thin coat lined with fur upon her shoulders, her hair was dark this time, simply braided not bright copper as before and she was there, alone in the rain. Then she looked at me- it was like she could see _through_ my hooded mantle, into my dark and unholy eyes. I was shocked and I felt as if I was paralyzed but she averted her eyes and continued her way and the feeling was gone. It was one of the strangest and most fleeting things I have experienced.

I have always known there was something about the Starks, that drew me to them, that made them special.

_Anyhow,_ I keep on drifting don’t I? Well, Eddard Stark, I was going to tell you how he died. 

So we met almost a year after his arrival down to the warmer part of the country. We met at the Great Sept of Baelor, it was a sunny morning and the sky had woolen clouds festooning it. It was a bright day for a dark occurrence. The Quiet Wolf was kneeling in front of a large crowd, all eyes on him as he lied to save his daughters’ lives. Another very wicked-little-man ruled the kingdom for a change, so he didn’t give a shit. That scene was tremendously depressing. I really thought for a moment The Father or The Warrior would have mercy on him, but they didn’t. And who am I to judge them, I don’t have mercy either. The Gods are cruel my friends, and that’s a hard lesson to learn.

There he was, The Lone Wolf. Surrounded by people but still alone, like his one name hinted. He was kneeling on the podium his face pale and his eyes tired. They cut his head, clean from his body with one swift motion. It's funny how life ends like that, in one swift motion. I watched as his head rolled away, trailing blood behind. 

Humans all die alone and that is what all of them fear, something the can't stop or deny. I can only take them one by one to the other world, and it will be that way for the rest of eternity. Sucks for me.

I left the beautiful scene looking at his eldest daughter’s cringing face, all color drained from her as she brought her hands to her face and wept, at the Queen’s wide eyes and pursed lips and at the King’s twisted and sadistic smile. I heard the crowd cheering, wondering how this people lived their lives like this and I thought ‘you don’t have a clue what’s coming’.

I never imagined he would have to come with me so soon, I felt like he deserved a warm death surrounded by his children and grandchildren, with a smile on his long face. But there are so little people I’ve taken with me that way; I can count them all on my hands. We met in a hurried matter; he didn’t greet me as expected of course. I carried his heavy soul worrying how all this would turn out, I’m not a man* of politics but sometimes this things do interest me.

*Just to clear this up, I’m not really a man but sometimes I refer myself as one, sometimes I feel like one - kind of. It’s almost like I can feel their feelings. It’s strange I know, I just- don’t try to understand because I don’t even understand it myself alright.

And as I thought, it turned out horribly. There was a war! Yay! (Note the sarcasm) The War of the Five Kings, they called it. I found it funny because four other people decided they wanted to be the King too. Or they felt like it was their right or whatever. They were bored in their castles or something and declared themselves King. 

I actually really hate wars and the problem is there are usually a lot of those.

*********

Next time I took a gray Stark soul was well into the war and believe it or not it was a wedding! Yes, a wedding. Marital unions are, usually, a happy occasion. (Clearly not in this world though, nobles are forced against their will to wed other ugly nobles so I guess it’s no fun.) In my personal case, I have never been in a happy marriage ceremony; well I also don’t usually attend them. But of late people have remembered to invite me, so someone has to die. 

When I strolled through the thick wooden doors everything was chaos. Dead bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, screams everywhere. I walked on taking human souls as I went, whistling to myself to block out the noise, and guess who I found! The eldest son of Eddard Stark. The King in the North, The Young Wolf - who they said turned into a gigantic grey direwolf during battle and slaughtered all his enemies - lying on the dirty wooden floor, his dead sky-coloured eyes staring at me; my black shoes were in the puddle of crimson his blood formed around him, I splashed in it a bit and realized it was quite fresh. I looked at him, really looked at him. Another Stark.I grimaced. He was just a _kid_. I had met him before of course, but now his youth showed in his face. 

There was a lot of blood and everything was just a hot mess, it makes sense why they called it The Red Wedding, trust me. As I picked more lifeless souls in that room I noticed his young wife whit holes adorning her abdomen, her small hands covering them carefully. When I lifted her young soul I realized I was taking two with me, an unborn child too. That made me terribly upset, because I am … um well…. It’s my job and all but taking someone who hasn’t even seen life yet, that’s something indescribable. A baby is the purest thing on this Earth and I can imagine the Mother weeping for this loss, but if she couldn’t do anything about it, no one can.  
As I walked away surprised but not shocked as to what human beings can do, I saw something that left me truly dumbfounded. It was The Young Wolf on his horse, but his head had been replaced by that of his own direwolf, it had been sown to his corpse and they were parading it and laughing shouting “The King in The North” and that was another moment where human beings threw me off my horse. Their thirst for blood and death and battle. It was the reason why they would never change.

Afterwards, when I was leaving I found his mother, she was in the river and she was naked as the day she was born and there was a wide gash around her throat, like a necklace. Her face was pale and slowly sagging; algae were adorning her skin like a green dress. Later I would meet her again, but this time as Lady Stoneheart, someone had taken her from me and brought her back. It’s technically impossible but the sonofabitch did it anyway with some sort of dark magic.

I know who they are; they follow ‘The Lord of Light’. I don’t even know who the hell that is, but he is taking my souls and I don’t like that at all. Whoever he thinks he is; he does not belong with us. Not with the old Gods or the new. There was something different about his worshippers, I could tell. That’s why Lady Stoneheart ended up looking like my bride; death takes a toll on you my friends.

These Starks were dying like flies and in the worst ways possible. I would say they don’t deserve it, they are an honourable family, loved by their people, but as I said before everything happens for a reason and being good doesn’t save you from me.


End file.
